Lost Autumn
She stood up from her painful position, tears welled up in her eyes. Her mind tells her to be strong, strong enough to be able to survive until she is finally released from the lawfully bounded grasp of her mother's. "Are you done?" she asked quietly. Her cheek throbbed violently as she slowly trudged to her room.
"Who do you think you are, Annabelle?" The stench of alcohol upon her mother's body carried itself throughout the room. Without another word, Melissa managed to stagger across the room and yanked violently on Annabelle's hair, pulling her back to the floor. "Why the hell did I give birth to you? Why was I so fucking stupid to "fall in love" with your so-called father?" Each time a word was said, a kick was pounded into Annabelle's ribs. Annabelle felt herself balled up on the floor holding on to her heart for grasp of life. "I would so much rather give birth to a bottle of beer than a piece of shit like you."
The memories of what had happened that night pondered within Annabelle's mind. She stared up at the ceiling, sadness overwhelmed her, but she dares not cry. She glanced at her alarm clock, desperate for the morning to come, as it reads 3:40. She plans to leave early, not wanting to see her mother before school started. The feeling would be awkward after what had happened last night. Her fingers ran up and down her ribs. They feel fine, a little painful but manageable. Her cheek burned, it might be swollen, but she's sure it would lessen as morning approaches. She glanced at the alarm clock one more time before deciding to get up and get dressed. She grabbed the sides of her bed to pull herself up. Her body ached, every single part of it, but she was able to walk slowly to the bathroom and get ready.
Breakfast was simple; a bowl of cereal and a banana. She grabbed her bag as she hears the bus and stares at her mother's sleeping position on the couch. Sympathy and sorrow both crowded their way into her emotions. Her mother had been in that stage, drinking and commiting child abuse, since her father, Robert, left them for that woman. She stared out the window just in time to see her neighbor's kids get on the bus. She rushed on but was careful to hide the bruises and sores.
The route to school was peaceful; dew-mounted red, yellow, and orange leaves drooped dangerously on their trees, yet peace was all she needs to start thinking again.
---OUT OF THOUGHT--- To Be Continued
